


Three Hours

by anathemagerminabunt



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemagerminabunt/pseuds/anathemagerminabunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A PWP in which Martin suffers for three hours, is impatient, and gets his own back. Originally written for the kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Hours

"Three hours, Douglas," Martin grits out, craning his head to watch the older man fumble with the keycard and lock. "Three _bloody_ hours."

"Come now, the traffic jam was hardly my fault." Triumphant, Douglas pushes the door to their room open and steps inside.

Martin glares as he follows, dropping his overnight bag just inside. "No," he allows, locking the door behind them and crossing to the nearest lopsided bed to slip out of his jacket and toss his hat aside. "Spending said traffic jam crammed next to Arthur in the backseat of a cab, all the while sporting a raging stiffy? Now _that_ was your fault."

Douglas smirks. " _Really?_ The whole time, my my. I knew you were fond of my voice, Martin, but even so--"

"Shut up." Martin flushes. "You did it on purpose, we both know you did. You knew what you were doing when you cornered me in the galley and you did it just to torture me. You and-- and your _voice_ with your _words_." He sucks in a deep breath, turning around. "We're just lucky that Arthur's so oblivious to everything. I can't believe--"

"Mmm," Douglas noncommittally retorts. He confidently strides toward Martin, closing the space between them. Pitching his voice low and taking on a raw and ragged quality, he purrs, "We could spend all night arguing over who did what to whom, Captain, or we could spend the night doing a few whats to one another." He leans in, wrapping his arms around Martin to press lips to his ear and mimic his whispering from three hours earlier. "You seemed particularly moved by my suggestion that I take you hard against the wall until the entire hotel can hear you screaming."

Martin shivers, inhaling sharply. "Hnng. That-- oh god."

"Indeed. Is that an affirmation, then?" Grinning in satisfaction, Douglas spends a few minutes busying his lips and teeth with Martin's earlobe and neck. As Martin frantically struggles to keep from entirely melting in the embrace surrounding him, Douglas murmurs, "God, look at you. You can't stand it anymore, can you?" He sucks hard at Martin's clavicle, an action that produces a shamefully broken whine. "Watching you squirm in that cab, watching you _gagging_ for me, for my mouth, my hands, my cock... christ, Martin, if either of us is doing any torturing tonight, it certainly isn't me."

"Don't..." Martin gasps, tilting his head to give access to more of his skin. His fingers dig into Douglas' hips and yank until his arse presses flush against them. Cock twitching and pulsing at the contact, he begs, "Don't tease, for the love of god, please, _don't tease_."

"You look so wanton right now. That's hardly incentive for me to stop." All the same, Douglas snakes a hand over Martin's chest and abdomen, down toward his waistband and directly beneath. "But if you insist--"

"Oh- _oh_ ," Martin hitches, bucking forward in a bid to move that wandering touch to his cock. It seems to work, as Douglas chooses just then to lightly grip him and tug. "Fucking--"

Tightening his fist, Douglas bypasses any desire he may have to draw this out, and begins to efficiently stroke, much to Martin's gratitude. He casually grinds against Martin's arse as he does so, driving the man to dizzying, all-consuming levels of desire. "Yes, god yes. Like that, let me hear you."

"God, oh fucking hell, D-Douglas." Martin reaches down, clenching his fingers into Douglas' forearm with enough force to leave marks. He's thrusting already, driving into the tantalizing fist around him, eyes fluttering shut as he arches and moans. "Oh, oh jesus, oh yes. Fuck, good. All day, wanted you _all day_ , couldn't think for-- _oh fuck, yes_!"

Douglas flicks his wrist and twists just so, thumb sliding over the leaking slit as he toys with the foreskin. "God, if only you knew what you do to me," he gasps, voice hoarse.

"Don't stop," Martin outright pleads, too aroused to feel his usual embarrassment. A high-pitched, keening sound rips from him as he writhes, his bottom lip trapped between clenched teeth. "D-don't you dare-- there, yes, there, l-like that--"

"Oh god." Douglas leans down, burying his face in a head of red curls and inhaling. He's practically rutting against Martin now, tiny grunts escaping him every now and then. "Wouldn't dream of doing anything but this."

"I--" Arching, body taut and trembling, Martin lets out a strangled sob. "Yes. Yes, Douglas, need-- fuck, _Douglas_. Oh, oh, _oh, oh ohohoh_." He's hurtling toward the edge, far faster than he should be from a mostly-clothed handjob. But he has been rock hard for three hours, _three bloody_ \-- his hand tenses, driving his fingernails into skin. "I'm-- Doug-- I--"

"Fuck," Douglas chokes. "Fuck, yes, come on now, love. Do it, let me see you come for me, Martin, let me watch you do it, come _on_."

And that's it, really. How on earth is Martin expected to outlast Douglas begging him to finish after three hours of build up? Almost immediately he thrashes in the tight hold around him and comes, moaning loudly and brokenly, dropping his head back against Douglas as he shakes through his release.

"Fuck." Martin finds he's chanting that one word over and over as he slowly returns to himself. That's about the most he can manage at the moment, utterly wrecked by the orgasm that ripped through him. "I... fuck, good."

"Yes, yes, sex good, fire bad." Douglas dips down, capturing him for a kiss before spinning Martin around and pressing him down onto the bed. "Worth the wait?"

"Well. I-I'm not sure," Martin admits after a moment, blinking slowly. "Maybe I should gather a second opinion?" He makes a show of lifting his watch, announcing, "You have two hours and forty-five minutes left."

With a carefully concealed smirk, Martin ignores Douglas' sputtering above him and rolls over to feign sleep for at least a full minute or two.

_See how he likes it._


End file.
